


Good Boy

by SaadieStuff



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Sad Michael Guerin, Smut, because it got out of hand, everything you could want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 18:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19067848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaadieStuff/pseuds/SaadieStuff
Summary: Bad boy.Over the years it had been hurled at him time and time again, both in sneer and in seduction. The persona had become home for his fears, his dreams, his secrets, his love - a smothering shelter, always near bursting at the seams. It's time Michael Guerin found a new home.





	Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Phew!!! This was supposed to be a short little 5+1 "Good Boy Michael Guerin" ficlet type thing and it became this whole other thing. It starts slow and gets better, if I do say so myself, so keep reading!!  
> Thanks to [estel_willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow/pseuds/estel_willow) for cheerleading! This one has been in the works for weeks.  
> Also, the pilot script describes Michael as "a bad boy but a good man," and I ended up taking quite a bit of inspiration from that to get this fic finished!

He’s terrified as his father lets him gently out of his arms and onto the shaky floor of the ship, but his mother’s voice in his head is calm over the blaring warning sirens.

_There’s no need to be scared. Now, be a good boy and climb into your pod. I’ll come and get you when it’s safe._

It was never safe, and she never came. Earth is full of horrors; it’s not the new home they’d sought.

* * *

The two others like him, he knows them, from whatever life he had before - he’s sure - but they’ve all forgotten their own names and everything else.

His companions leave the group home one day. He hadn’t known they weren’t coming back or he’d have done something sooner.

Instead, hours later, he’s throwing a hopeless, silent, fit. Again. But this time, he’s truly alone.

He’s punished. He cries. He finally feels _something_ \- the boy and girl, far away, calling back. And someone else, more distant.

Later, an old man comes to wash down the walls he’d drawn all over. It takes an hour to clean the room. The man mutters at him the whole time. The tone seems kindly, though he can’t understand much of what the man is saying.

“I hear your friends got adopted. That’s a happy thing, you know,” the man goes to pat him on the head, then thinks better of it, and just smiles instead, “If you’re a good boy, and stop drawing on the walls, someone will take you home too.”

 _How?_ he thinks, when home feels so very far away.

* * *

“Yo, freak, is that my physics homework?”

“No, it’s mine. I told you, do your own homework,” Michael says, without looking up.

“And I told you I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I’m sure it’s the same homework as the first two times you took the course,” Michael snaps back, now meeting the gazes of the boy and his goons.

That smart remark earns Michael a rough-up from the three older boys. But it’s nothing to him - he’s had much worse - and he takes it without complaint.

“Learned some manners, Guerin?” the boy sniggers as he steps over Michael, picking up Michael’s backpack and homework, “Now be a good boy and run along home to mommy.”

How Michael wishes he could. Anger flares, and he pushes one boy, then uses his powers to domino him into the others. He takes his things and leaves.

* * *

“Michael, you’re such a goodie-goodie,” Isobel teases when she finds him studying in the school library, looking like he’s been there since much earlier than their appointed study time, “Don’t you know girls like the bad boys?” she offers casually.

Michael's ears perk up. “Like Alex?”

“Who?”

“Alex Manes…” Michael says quietly, hoping he hasn’t given himself away.

“No, silly. He’s _goth_. And, apparently, gay. Guess you really don’t know what girls want do you?” Isobel laughs as she pulls out her textbook and settles in next to Michael.

He didn’t think that was true - he’d done just fine with girls - but lately he'd been finding that he doesn’t particularly care what girls want anyways.

Not that anything has _changed._ Girls are nice. He still likes them the same as before. And he wouldn’t turn one down even now if he liked her enough, and not just for the chance to have someone touch him gently - he’d enjoy it for what it was too. He especially enjoys it when a girl lets him sleep over in a warm bed and sneak out the window in the morning.

But even so, at the moment (and, he doesn’t know it yet, but for every moment after), he only wants to know what _Alex_ is interested in. And he hopes Alex will be interested in retrieving his guitar that Michael plans to borrow this afternoon from the music room.

Later, it turns out he is.

_What the hell, Guerin?_

And in one conversation Michael learns that his truck might be more of a home than the one with the white picket fence Alex shares with his father and brothers.

* * *

Michael hears them a few horse-stalls over.

“Was that local bad-boy Michael Guerin I saw out in that there field of yours earlier?”

“Sure was,” Mr. Foster says, “Fred, I tell ya, he’s been here a month and he can herd cattle like nobody’s business. They practically just go where he wants ‘em. Strong too - he gets work done fast. And he seems to have a knack for fixing equipment.”

“Alright, alright, so he’s worth all the trouble he gets in, eh?”

“I’m giving him a chance. He’s a good young man, you know. He’s just a little lost. I think farm work will do him well.”

_People don’t always have an agenda._

That night, Michael asks Mr. Foster if he can move his airstream on to the ranch and set up camp. It’s a fitting place for it, after all those nights he’d waited there for someone to come for him and take him home.

* * *

Bad boy, bad boy, bad boy.

Over the years it had been hurled at him time and time again, both in sneer and in seduction.

The persona had become home for his fears, his dreams, his secrets, his love - a smothering shelter, always near bursting at the seams.

_We’re not kids anymore._

Bad... man?

Criminal. Drunk. Idiot.

* * *

“So, are the rumours true? Are you a naughty, bad, boy?” the woman growls at Michael as she sidles up to him at the bar.

Michael licks his lips. While her come-on is cheesy, the woman is gorgeous and obviously confident and he figures she could probably wind him up enough to get his head out of his problems for a few hours if she’ll let him take her home. Hooking up in the bathroom really isn’t going to cut it tonight.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Michael says slyly, then downs the rest of his beer, and adds with a flirty smile, “Want to go for a ride?”

“I’ll take a ride,” Alex says smoothly from behind him, before the woman can answer.

_Where the fuck did he come from?_

As the woman makes a quick exit back to her table of friends, Michael wonders what face Alex is making over his shoulder to achieve that result, but he doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t say a word. Michael just gets up, and leaves.

Alex silently follows him out of the bar and into the parking lot. But his presence is known.

“What do you want, Alex?!” Michael snaps at him as he finally spins around a few feet from his truck.

“I want you to talk to me,” Alex says a little pleadingly.

“I’m a goddamn disaster--”

“You were grieving,” Alex interrupts, “And pushed everyone away and did some things I know you’re not proud of, and now you don’t want to face it, but--”

“You should be _embarrassed_ to be seen with me. _I’m_ embarrassed, okay?” Michael says angrily, but it’s directed at himself, not Alex. “I’m a frickin’ genius and what the hell am I doing with my life?”

That stings, because Alex feels like he put those words in Michael’s mouth once upon a time.

“Max came back, and I’m happy for that, I’m so happy,” Michael chokes up, “but he came back to me swimming in booze and women and he had this look of-- of-- _disappointment_ on his face. Like he expected me to have stepped up when he died. Because I should have! And instead--”

“Guerin--” Alex tries.

“You know,” his voice breaks harshly, “I just keep wondering if _she’d_ have that same look on her face? And how I wish I could see even that, ‘cause it would mean I’d have one more image of her. Is that pathetic or what?”

Neither knows when it had happened - when they’d started crying, when they’d pressed their foreheads together, when they’d moved to cling to each other for dear life just as they had many months ago at Caulfield.

But there’s no one to tell them to run this time. They’ll stay until it’s over.

“Listen, listen to me,” Alex says brokenly, pausing to take in a few sharp breaths to gather the strength his next words deserve. “You’re a good man, Michael Guerin. And your mom knew that. She only had a few minutes to know it, and that’s _so_ unfair, but she knew, okay?”

Michael’s fingers tighten in Alex’s shirt - it’s as good an acknowledgment as he can give until he can force the air back into his lungs.

But it’s not working, it’s just _not_. His chest keeps heaving with something heavier.

Alex's gentle fingers newly at his jaw, and the lightest tug on his earlobes, finally startle a breath into him. He gasps.

“She knew about us too,” Michael says, words rushed, voice soft and sniffly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

This time, they don’t need to run to safety; safety is folding into each other.  

“Come home to me, Michael,” Alex whispers, “Let me come home to you.”

Michael nods against him.

* * *

“So you think he’s reverted to a younger version of himself?” Alex’s brow furrows at Isobel and Max.

Isobel sighs. “You know I’ve been showing him and Max how to use my powers, right? And Michael wanted to try to revive his memories from being on our planet. I think he got trapped in his mind doing that. So Max and I went in to try and find him and… when we brought him out… we had this.”

“What other explanation is there?” Max asks, looking to Alex.

“I don’t know. It’s just that human kids don’t really talk like that…” Alex explains, looking at Michael curled up on Isobel’s couch, now quiet and appearing to eye Alex suspiciously.

“Neither did we when we came out of the pods,” Isobel says.

“Iz, we didn't talk... at all…" Max reminds her.

“Pods?” Michael says hopefully, perking up again.

“Yes. Remember pods?” Isobel says sweetly, leaning over in her chair to get closer to him.

“I’m an alien,” Michael says slowly, like he’s just coming to this realization.

“Yes,” Alex says calmly as he cautiously moves to sit next to Michael on the couch, “That’s right.”

“What’s my name?” Michael asks, sounding young and small.

“Michael. Michael Guerin. People call you Guerin a lot,” Alex explains gently.

“That doesn’t sound like my name,” Michael says sadly, a puzzled frown blooming.  

“Jesus,” Max curses softly, shifting his weight uneasily, and wiping a hand over his face.

“Alex, what’s my name?” Michael tries again, reaching to touch Alex’s arm.

“Well, at least he knows _your_ name, so I didn’t totally break him, right?” Isobel says brightly.

“Isobel this isn’t funny!” Max exclaims.

“I know that, Max!” Isobel growls at him.

“Cut it out,” Alex scolds, “We have to figure out how to fix him.”

“Alien, Alien, Alex,” Michael cuts in, chanting as he nods at each of them in turn, “Alien, Alien, Alex.”

“That's right, buddy,” Max says with a forced smile as he sits down on the coffee table in front of the couch, meeting Michael's eye level.

“Where are we? This doesn’t look like home,” Michael casts about nervously, like he’s finally satisfied with his assessment of the people in the room and has now moved on to the environment.

“You’re safe, okay?” Alex promises.

“Safe...” Michael says hesitantly, rolling the word around in his mouth. “I tried to stay in my pod and wait,” he says, starting to sound a little distraught, “I tried. But--”

Max chokes out a sob, remembering what he saw in Michael’s mind. He tries to shove it down, but it’s too late. And it makes Michael even more distressed.

“Was I not a good boy?” Michael asks, voice high and upset, tears suddenly rolling down his face as he glances from Max to Isobel, then to Alex.

“Yes, hun, you are,” Isobel says softly, “No one’s mad at you,” she strokes his cheek, then casts a steely glance at Max, telling him to pull it together.

Michael at first appears comfortable with this answer. Then he says, “Confused,” and reaches two glowing-red hands out towards Max and Isobel.

They each jerk away. Michael whimpers sharply, like a kicked puppy, pulling back quickly like he’s been burned, and curls in on himself.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. We… we just don’t need any… um, healing right now…?” Isobel says, then looks to Max for help.

“No, I think he just wants to communicate,” Alex suggests, “His mother did something similar… at Caulfield.”

“I don’t think going into his head again right now is going to help,” Max says, “But let me try…” he trails off and starts undoing his shirt.

“Um…” Alex starts.

“He’s got a tattoo of the symbol Michael used to draw when we were kids,” Isobel explains.

“Oh.”

Michael spends a long minute tracing over the symbol on Max’s back. It seems to calm them both.

“So… how do we fix this?” Alex asks.

“Plan A? Sleep. Let his mind rest. Hope his dreams sort it out?”

“Seriously?” Max asks.

“Got any better ideas that don’t carry the risk of making him worse?” Isobel challenges.

“No,” Max and Alex say in unison.

“So… buddy, I bet you’re pretty tired huh?” Max says over his shoulder to Michael.

Thankfully, Michael nods.

“Want to try to get some sleep?” Max suggests.

The dive Michael takes to place his head in Alex’s lap, and close his eyes, is taken as an enthusiastic 'yes'.

Alex is a little startled, but quickly recovers, and moves to stroke Michael’s hair with one hand, rubbing Michael’s arm with the other.

“I think my bed would be more comfortable…” Isobel offers.

The three of them coax Michael out of Alex’s lap and down the hall to Isobel’s bedroom - at least it starts that way. It ends with Michael herding them with his powers, not wanting any one of them to get too far away.

“Guess we’re having a sleepover?” Max says wryly.

“Like good old times,” Isobel says, and she settles herself on the far side of her bed.

“Plus one,” Alex adds.

“Come on sweetie,” Isobel says to Michael, waving her hand, patting the bed next to her.

He takes several steps towards the bed.

“Oh, wait,” Alex says, and Michael pauses. “You never get comfortable with this on.” Alex’s eyes drop, and his hands move slowly to Michael’s massive belt. Michael allows him to remove it, watching him curiously the whole time. When Alex looks up, Michael’s face is an inch away, staring at him. Alex gulps. “Okay, you’re good.”

“Come here,” Isobel calls softly, and Michael goes. He lies down besides her, facing away, and she starts rubbing his back in slow circles.

Alex and Max look at the bed, then each other.

“After you,” Max says.

“If he’s going to hold on to me all night I really need to take off my leg or it’s going to be a bitch in the morning.”

“Okay,” Max shrugs.

Alex sits at the end of the bed and slides his jeans down so he can get to the sleeve on his thigh. He doesn’t much care that Isobel and Max are seeing him in his underwear. He suspects it’s more awkward for them. He’s not sure if they expected him to do it right there in the room, but if he went somewhere else, he couldn’t easily get back.

The prosthetic clunks to the floor and he pulls his jeans back on and crawls up the bed to lie flat on his back next to Michael, who immediately glomps on to him.

Max, still shirtless, climbs in last, putting his back to all of them so Michael can look at the symbol as he drifts off.

In the morning, Michael wakes them all up.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“You don’t remember what happened?” Alex asks, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“No.”

“Uh, well--” Max starts, then stalls.

“Speak up! Can’t have been that weird,” Michael declares, eyeing them all, “I know Alex likes ‘em tall and alien but this is--”

“Obviously back to his old self!” Isobel says victoriously.

“When was I _not_ myself?”

Alex crawls off to the end of the bed to put on his prosthetic, as Isobel and Max launch into an explanation.

It doesn’t take much before Michael rapidly starts to remember everything. His eyes go wide, his breathing quickens. “How much?” he cuts in.

“What?” Isobel asks.

“How much did you see inside my head?” he glances from one to the other, then scrambles out of the bed.

“It's okay,” Max starts.

“That’s not an answer! How much, Iz? Max?” Michael demands, he gaze dropping to his feet.

When they don't respond immediately, Michael rushes out of the room.

“Michael!” Max calls after him. But Michael only slams the bedroom door shut with his powers from out in the hall.

Alex sighs. “I'll go after him. You two stay here.”

Outside Isobel’s house, Alex spots Michael just as Michael’s truck jumps a foot off the ground and slams back down.

“Michael--”

“I’m not going back in there. Don’t even try!” he shouts.

“I’m not asking you to,” Alex says calmly as he approaches, “But I do need you to not wake the neighbours by throwing cars around.”

Michael exhales, and rubs the back of his neck, letting some of the tension drain out of him.

“I just-- I don’t think I can look at them,” he mumbles so Alex can barely hear.

“They didn’t mean to take a tour through your memories. They were trying to save you from getting lost in there.”

“I know, I know,” Michael gulps, “But they saw things. They probably saw _us_.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, because there’s no point in arguing.

Michael flings his arms out, flicking his hands like he can shake off the feeling that way.

“I just feel so… naked? I don’t know. I just can’t deal with them right now. Them and their pity-Michael faces.”

“I understand. I know those faces,” Alex says regretfully. 

Michael paces around in a circle, nodding, until he says, “Let’s get out of here?”

Alex smiles sadly and jerks his head towards his SUV.

As they move towards Alex’s car, Isobel and Max come out of the house. Michael spins around to face the road instead. Behind him he feels Alex, who has stepped between him, and Isobel and Max.

“Michael!” Isobel calls to him.

“I’ve got him. Trust me,” Alex says.

“Iz, come on,” Max says, taking her arm and tugging her gently back towards the door, “He needs time.”

When Isobel and Max have gone inside and are at least trying to pretend they’re not looking out the window, Alex tells Michael the coast is clear, and they climb into the SUV.

“Just take me home, Alex,” Michael says.

“Your place, or mine?”

“Yours.”

* * *

“Oh _fuckkk_ , --lex," Michael calls out as Alex thrusts into him again from behind. "Please, please, _please_ ," he begs.

"Please what?" Alex asks. It’s a bit of a pant - they’ve been at this a while.

"Sl--ow--er," Michael stutters out.

"You okay?" Alex questions with concern and begins to still their movements.

That's not what Michael meant.

" _Sharper_ ," Michael rasps.

"Ah," Alex says slyly, " _Now_ I know what you need."

He pushes Michael's hips down, spreading Michael's knees further apart on the bed so that Alex, kneeling a little higher behind him, can add a downward motion.

"Oh-- oh-- oh. _Fuck, yes,_ like that," Michael moans into the pillow where he’s buried his face.

It's not thirty seconds before Alex notices that Michael's right hand has disappeared from its place fisted in the sheets up near Michael's head.

"Noo touching, Michael," Alex scolds playfully.

Michael grunts in protest, his hand inches away from getting a hold of his neglected cock, swinging hard and leaking between his legs with nothing but air for friction. But he moves his hand back up where Alex can see it.

"That's it," Alex says, punctuated by a pointed thrust.

Michael whines mournfully.

"I need it, Alex. I _need_ it. I need a hand, literally."

"This is how you wanted it," Alex reminds him, and it's not a taunt - it's encouragement.

"Changed my mind," Michael gasps out.

It's a lie. If he had, he'd already be jerking himself off.

"Aw, babe, you're so close," Alex says, voice impossibly tender, running a soothing hand from Michael's hip over his back, as far as he can reach without bending over, then deciding that's _exactly_ what he should do.

It's a balancing act, between not having the leverage of a right foot, and only one forearm to rest on while the other arm is busy holding Michael up underneath him - as Michael seems incapable at the moment of supporting them both, like he usually can - but Alex manages to get them settled in the new position.

Meanwhile, Michael fantasizes about finding a new position for his _hands_... One around his cock, the other rolling his balls, maybe sliding behind, pressing right above where Alex is buried inside--

“ _Fuck!_ ” Michael cries out as Alex resumes his thrusts. The angle has changed again and it's good. _So_ good. But he still needs to _touch_.

"It'll be worth it," Alex sing-songs in his ear, as if reading his mind, "I'll get you there."

Michael whines, but clasps his hands together above his head, fingers half tangled in his own curls, wildly splayed out.

"Good boy," Alex purrs teasingly at his ear.

The only response is a whimper, Michael's whole body quivering now, hopelessly clenching around Alex’s cock, seeking enough pressure to send him over, and not quite--

"Baby, you're _right_ there,” Alex says comfortingly.

Michael moans. He feels like he might teeter on the edge forever if he doesn't touch himself.

"Alright, you're going to come for me, on the count of five," Alex tells him, deciding to try another tactic before Michael’s patience completely erodes.

Michael nods into the mattress. He doesn't think he can, but maybe, for Alex--

Alex thrusts into him again. "One," Alex counts. Another thrust, "two," he thrusts again, "three," again, "four..." again--

Michael finally, _finally,_ hits that peak. He cries out as his cock spills its release into the air, throbbing against nothing. It's a weird, but _great_ , sensation - intense though - and Michael finds himself wanting to reach between his legs and stroke himself through it. Touch and touch and...

" _Good boy!_ " The words practically vibrate through Michael as Alex laughs them out, excited, triumphant, and full of praise.

So, Michael keeps his hands where they are and tries to breathe through it, concentrating on how his whole body is pulsing in time, how he’s clenching tightly around Alex's cock, how it makes him feel even more full than when Alex first slid inside half an hour or so ago.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," Alex gasps into his shoulder as his hips stutter helplessly, the rhythm of his earlier thrusts lost as they succumb to the steady throb Michael's body has now set for them, and Alex follows with his own release moments later.

Michael barely notices, blissed out and feeling like jello, only dimly aware that he hasn't collapsed into the bed yet, that there's a strong arm around him holding him up, then setting him down, slowly, gently, followed by the weight of Alex on his back, present but not heavy, a comfort, not a burden.

"You good?" Alex asks, shifting a little to stroke fingers through Michael's hair.

"Yeah," Michael sighs contentedly, spent. And yet his hips twitch even now to give his cock long sought friction against the bed. In doing so, he rocks back a fraction onto Alex's cock, still nestled inside him.

"Do you want--" Alex starts to ask.

"No, stay," Michael says softly.

"It's warm," Alex says, by way of explanation, as if any is needed.

"Uh huh," Michael hums as he snuggles into the bed, and Alex molds to him more.

Falling from the highest of highs he's been caught and held, floated down and grounded.

No more crash landings. He's home.

* * *

**Alex:** Is there anything in the fridge or should I pick something up on my way home from the airport?

 **Alex:** *Is there food in the fridge

 **Michael:** Don’t worry, I bought more than beer at the store. I’ve been a good boi this time!

 **Alex:** enjoying having our shoddy WiFi to yourself are you?

 **Michael:** ya... why?

 **Alex:** You’re talking like an internet meme

Michael pauses for minute. They don’t usually get cute while texting. It’s just something that’s practical. But Michael is in a silly mood, giddy with excitement to have Alex home tonight.

 **Michael:**   :3

 **Alex:** I miss you

 **Michael:** I miss you too

 **Alex:** Can’t wait to be home!

* * *

“Yes, you’re such a good boy! Aren’t you?” Alex coos and laughs at their new beagle mix. (Mimi’s prediction had been just a little off.)

“Am I a good boy too?” Michael asks, sliding closer to Alex on the couch.

Alex laughs, “Yes. Are you jealous that _someone_ is getting more head pats than you?” Alex teases, as he reaches to thread his fingers through Michael’s hair behind his ear, scritching just how he likes.  

“If I’m honest, yes?” Michael says, as he melts into Alex’s touch. It’s a joke, mostly.

Alex chuckles, “Don’t be. That’s just puppy love. _This_ is cosmic,” Alex says as he puts his other hand in Michael's hair too, and draws him in for a kiss.

They’re interrupted by a _yap_ and _clang_ as the dog pulls the bag of treats off the coffee table, taking with it other pet supplies and paperwork from the shelter.

Alex scoops up the dog while Michael gets to his knees to clean up.

“Good thing you’re cute, mister,” Alex says to the dog, clearing his throat of the baby voice he said he _would not_ use, before turning to Michael, “We really need to decide what to call him.”

Michael just hums noncommittally, distracted by the large, bold, wording on one of the shelter pamphlets he’s just plucked from the floor.

_Forever Home_

He smiles.


End file.
